


The One with the Duel Monsters

by emudii



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Antagoshipping, Conflictshipping, Jeershipping, Multi, Nurseshipping, Polarshipping - Freeform, Prideshipping, Protectshipping, Scandalshipping, Tendershipping, Thiefshipping, Trustshipping - Freeform, conquestshipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-24
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3982744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emudii/pseuds/emudii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Consolidated YGO: Duel Monsters & "Season Zero" Tumblr askbox drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trustshipping: Retribution

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Original Japanese language anime & manga source. No Dub or Abridged references, sorry.
> 
> 2) Y. Yuugi is called _"Yuugi"_ in Japanese. Typically, the difference in being address is denoted as: Yuugi/Yuugi-kun, Bakura/Bakura-kun, Malik/MALIK (lol). But I have tried to refrain from using honorifics, and so will use italics instead.
> 
> 3) "Palahniuk Exercise" chapters are based on an essay by Chuck Palahniuk entitled [Nuts and Bolts: "Thought Verbs."](https://litreactor.com/essays/chuck-palahniuk/nuts-and-bolts-%E2%80%9Cthought%E2%80%9D-verbs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (07/24/2011) Ishizu loses more than just the duel against Seto.

It is the first time since their duel that she’s encountered him alone.  It is also the first time since they’ve met that she hadn’t mentally prepared beforehand, which is dangerous now that she cannot See. Now that she no longer has the advantage over him.  He is a force unrestrained, with the power of the gods, and now he _knows_ it.  So when Seto actually stops to acknowledge her in the passageway, Ishizu is beset with uncertainty and no small amount of awkwardness for her own exposed failures.

"I’ve forgiven you this time," he says, down his nose, and the words seem less _to_ her as _through_ her… right past, into the unknown future he’s birthed.  “But if you _ever_ interfere with me again…"  
  
He doesn’t need to say it.  His eyes say it all: deep and dark and ruthless and despite everything, her breath catches.  Because even though she doesn’t fear death, Ishizu is not without fear. And what his eyes promise resonates deep inside of her.  It quakes, all the way down her spine and into her knees and she has to brace one hand against the wall to steady herself.  “Everything is up to you now," she replies, heart in throat, even though she knows that her own response is unnecessary.  Seto isn’t discussing anything; this is a one-way conversation. He probably doesn’t even hear her.  She’s already a corpse, in his wake.  Maybe.  Except that now he’s closing in, steady and serpentine—trapping her into a corner with his gaze alone.  He doesn’t touch her, doesn’t try.  He merely looms, eyes gleaming knife-like over the toothed curl of his smile, and the tremor inside her intensifies, burning hot and furious and it _aches_ so badly she doesn’t dare breathe. 

“Just watch," he purrs, all acid and arrogance.  “The future is guided by the strong.  Everyone _else_ will succumb to fate."  
  
She has no answer.  She can only stare up at him with wide eyes, which is apparently gratifying, because his smile softens— _sharpens_ —and he tilts somewhat, finally coming down to her level.  And he hovers, just like that, for a few seconds, letting the tension steep until her hands curl in front of her, ready to throw him off, if _only_ he would come a little closer… 

"I’ve already won," he whispers, warm over her lips, and Ishizu has to press her knees together to contain the sudden, dark thrill that that sends through her... But of course, he means Battle City.  _Of course_ he does.  
  
Latching onto this, she carefully exhales and manages to push away from the wall—from _him_ —chin lifted, defiantly.  He doesn't stop her. He just straightens, sneering triumphantly.  “Show me your future, then," she challenges, eyes narrowing at his blatant, predatory grin and trying to focus on all the reasons it should offend her—rather than what she _really_ wants to feel about it.  
  
Thankfully, Seto chooses this moment to grant her a reprieve, taking his leave of her with a single, sharp laugh.  He continues on, down the hall, as easily as he’d come. As though nothing had happened, at all.  And as he melts back into the shadows, she knows, with aching immediacy, that his retribution for what she tried to do to him… is no longer a matter of question.


	2. Antagoshipping: In Black & White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (08/03/2011) Seto is a man of his word, Bakura is a troll.

He stumbled backwards, eyes wide and stunned as the holograms blinked out. He’d lost. Seto Kaiba had lost a duel… to _Bakura_. He clenched a fist, casting his eyes down and away from the other man.  Even as his pride throbbed with injury, no amount of stiffness in his spine could counter the pain of having to _look_. "Remember the deal." Bastard was practically _purring_. “You _lost_ , which means…"

"I _swear_ , I’m going to _kill_ you!" Seto hissed, even as he fought to keep still and uphold his end of their agreement.  He nearly lost it when he heard the tell-tale rattle and high-pitched hiss of the spray can. Bakura just laughed, bright and loud, as he stepped back from the belly of Kaiba’s beloved Blue Eyes Jet. There, inscribed in gigantic, messy black characters, one word: _whores_.

His smile was unimpressed. Provocative. " _Try_. But next time you lose… I put it on your _face_."


	3. Protectshipping: Walk Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (09/10/2011) Honda wants to be Ryou's friend, but we've all seen what happens to Ryou's friends...

"What are you doing here?"

The desperate, unsettled look on Ryou’s face was the last way he’d expected to be greeted. After all, they’d spent the better half of the last month hanging out after school—doing the two-man study group thing between visits to the arcade. So, last he was aware, they were getting along better than most, in their class. Hiroto glanced at the white knuckled grip his classmate had on the door-frame and did his best not to frown. “Is something wrong about that?"  
  
The other boy leaned on the door heavily, as though he’d fall down without it. Still, his words were sharp and accusatory. “Don’t you have something better to do than coming here all the time?"  
  
"…You’re my friend." It was a deliberate feint, but Hiroto had no idea how else he should react. Despite how surreal this conversation felt, it still stung. “What else would I have to do?"  
  
Ryou sighed, averting his eyes. “You have the others, you know."  
  
He fought to keep his face straight; he hated when Ryou talked like that. “We’re _all_ friends." His nails were digging dark crescents into his palms. “We _all_ worry about you too, you know—"  
  
"Just—!" The other boy’s voice broke high and alarmingly loud, in the empty hallway. They both fell silent, and Ryou struggled for a calming breath, dropping back down to a murmur. “Just stop, Honda-kun." He exhaled, loosening his death grip and letting his eyes slide left. “If this is about the Millennium Ring, then you don’t have to worry, anymore. Nothing bad is going to happen to _me_."  
  
It was the subject most carefully avoided and Hiroto still didn’t exactly have the constitution to take it head on, but his mouth had always been faster than his brain. “But Bakura—" The rest of it was cut off as he was suddenly grabbed, one hand in the front of his uniform, _twisting_ until Hiroto was forced to hunch down and meet his gaze. For a moment, everything was still… consumed by the slow, steely glint in those normally soft brown eyes, and he was abruptly, almost mortally afraid that he’d woken the beast sleeping within.  
  
"If it weren’t for the Ring… you wouldn’t be here to begin with," Ryou insisted, throat swollen and shoulders shaking. His second hand joined the first, curling around Hiroto’s shoulder and if he didn’t know any better, he might’ve sworn that he was actually trying to pull him back in…  But Ryou’s mouth was a stiff and trembling line, tucked at the corners and telling him to leave.  
  
_Leave me_ , those words were saying, even as he was held like an anchor.  
  
Hiroto took hold of the backs of Ryou’s elbows, pinning him with a searching look. " _Go away_ ," that mouth was whispering, shakily—all the words dried and brittle and unconvincing. And those eyes, wide and scared and steadily darkening… and he knew, with abrupt clarity, what was happening. He didn’t give it time to sink in, to settle. He simply did the first thing that came to mind—he pulled Ryou into a swift, near bone-crushing hug, hoping that it would convey what couldn’t be said with words, just now. He lingered just long enough to register those hands beginning to claw at him, then let go and took off in the direction he’d come, hands in pockets, head down.  
  
He didn’t look back. He already knew what he’d see there.

He blocked out the ominous trill of laughter that followed and hated himself for not being able to do anything to help, except walk away.


	4. Protectshipping: Brownie Points

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (09/11/11) "Walk Away" storyline. Honda won't give up on Ryou. Jou jumps to conclusions.

He twisted his hands together, fumbling for the words. “Let’s say you have a friend, and you did something to upset to them… and you aren’t really sure _how_ but you want to say you’re sorry…"  
  
It was _so_ painfully obvious where this was all going that, for the life of him, Jounouchi couldn’t understand why Honda even bothered beating around the bush. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d had to come to him for girl problems, or anything. It should already be understood that they were bros and that they would always have each others backs, no matter what. He wouldn’t judge, so there was no need to get so worked up. Unless, that is… Honda _really_ liked this one.

His grin was black and slow as molasses, spreading and splitting his face in half. And it only widened when Hiroto noticed and stuttered to a stop. Jounouchi slid an arm around his shoulders and gave him the obligatory, reassuring squeeze, but they’d been friends long enough that the other teen stiffened, immediately on guard because _that_ look never meant anything good. Flushed with embarrassment and maybe a healthy dose of defensive anger, Honda raised a fist. But, of course, knowing went both ways, so Jounouchi had already seen through this, and he lowered his voice, appeasingly. “Hey man, just buy some flowers."

Honda blinked.  
  
"F-Flowers? Isn’t that a _little_ … I mean…" He was confused— _beyond_ confused—but he’d never had to deal with a situation like one he was currently in, so he couldn’t rightfully say what was and wasn’t appropriate. “Does that even work?" Honestly, he couldn’t imagine being won over something as ridiculous as flowers, himself; it seemed like an ages-old scam, meant only to rob men of their money and their dignity. But at this point… _any_ advice was better than none.  
  
"Of course it does! Chicks totally dig flowers!"  
  
"It’s not for a girl, it’s—" Honda was halfway through the thought when it occurred to him what he was about to say, and what it probably sounded like. And he about swallowed his own tongue.  
  
_It’s for Bakura._  
  
An awkward silence settled over the two.  
  
Jounouchi was the first to break eye contact. His gaze wandered somewhere over his own shoulder, and he let out a laugh that was just a little too strained—a little too weak—and Honda suddenly wanted to die, because there was no recovering, no matter how he rephrased it.

“ _Oh_ … well, that’s… in that case…"  
"Jou—"  
"Maybe a video game, instead."  
"You don’t—"  
"And _one_ flower."  
"…Are… _are you serious_!?"


	5. Tendershipping: Monday's Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (03/14/2012) "Walk Away" storyline. Companion piece to "Brownie Points." Slice of life with Bakura & Ryou.

On Monday, they fight.  
  
Both are low on patience and high on tension and although one of them must eventually lose, neither win. Ryou’s insight—ever progressively more unwelcome—puts Bakura in a foul mood and keeps him there through the morning, rousing more attention than he can afford from the others. A “headache" is all it takes to convince his classmates to leave him alone, but his momentum for the day is already ruined and he knows that sooner or later, he’ll have to rest again. The memory of Ryou’s bloodied, knowing grin taunts him—the too-direct telling of his own flaws—reminding him that lying to the others has always been the _easy_ part.  
  
On Tuesday, he withdraws.  
  
Ryou takes the body without comment, going about his morning routine as usual, and Bakura finds himself lingering because the lack of acknowledgment _isn’t_ usual. Ryou dresses for school and spends several minutes in the mirror, humming and brushing his hair with a serene expression. And Bakura can’t quite put his finger on why this pisses him off until there is a knock at the door and Ryou suddenly bolts past, grabbing his bag and letting himself out without sparing as much as a backward glance. Bakura can’t be left behind—he _resides_ in that body—but when he follows and finds one of those people— _Honda?_ — already walking his host to school, he knows that he isn’t just being ignored. He’s being put on the backburner.  
  
On Wednesday, it rains.  
  
Through no particular effort of his own, they are companionable again. Bakura perches on the window sil to think while Ryou resumes work on their diorama, without being asked. There are two mugs of hot chocolate on the table instead of one; and while completely harmless, he refuses his. He knows an invitation when he sees one, but after the last couple of days, it feels less like a peace offering and more like a set up. He is unsettled by the idle way Ryou smiles to himself and the loving care in the way he builds up the landscape; he’s just so _pleased_ when there shouldn’t be anything to be pleased about, and Bakura is fantasizing knocking that stupid, cow-like look off his face when Ryou sets down his paintbrush and asks if this area of the map has the right “feel" to it. He finally approaches, running fingertips, ghost-like, over the pieces. And they _do_ feel right, but he can’t remember why. Outside, the thunder rolls, and he pretends it’s his own heart beating.  
  
On Thursday, something clicks.  
  
Bakura has an epiphany that’s more like the waking demise of a dream—a breath of an impression, already dissolving in slow-motion, and he _needs_ to get them home and capture it in paper or clay or _anything_ that will yield before he loses it entirely. But Ryou has been distracted to the point of unresponsiveness, lingering behind the bleachers after school with a scrap of notebook paper folded in his hands, and despite his idleness Bakura somehow can’t just _take_ the body this time. It’s infuriating, but it isn’t until Honda appears, almost ten minutes later, that something finally _snaps_ and Bakura has already buried his fist into the back of that poor bastard’s skull before he realizes that he has possession again. It had been bad form and his wrist feels understandably _fractured_ , but the sight of that guy laid out cold somehow makes it worth it.  
  
On Friday, he submits.  
  
Ryou stays home and splints his own wrist to avoid his friends fussing, but seems passive enough… at least until that evening, when he apparently receives a call from one of them. Bakura _reels_ as he is all at once forcibly drawn into the open, punctuated by the sound of the receiver smashing into its cradle. Then Ryou is on him and there is _fire_ like he’s never seen in those amber eyes—enough so that his guts are momentarily leaden. Although he pretends otherwise, it was no accident that the Ring had chosen Ryou; three thousand years of searching, as it was passed from hand to hand, had given him _this_ boy for a reason. And the knowledge that his host has already used soul magic against him is suddenly hard to ignore. He can’t afford anymore setbacks. He can’t afford for Ryou to realize his own strength. So Bakura “loses," rather than fuel that dangerous anger. And it ends with Ryou’s hands around his throat. Exhausted and shaking and crying because he _can’t_. And even though Bakura had bet on that, he doesn’t understand why.  
  
On Saturday, silence.  
  
Bakura becomes aware of the phantom taste of coffee and chocolate in his mouth, even though he hasn’t been out all morning. A bit of investigation quickly reveals his host, curled listlessly into the corner of the apartment with a blanket and a steaming mug—which makes just as little sense, because unless Bakura was purposely tapping into their “center," they normally didn’t share _experience_. It would mean that Ryou had figured out how to do it too, and is deliberately pushing “mocha" at him, of all things. Maybe just to test his reaction? Bakura settles on the bed across from him, watching intently but not speaking. And Ryou, for his part, doesn’t bother to acknowledge him. He simply drinks, and Bakura feels it again, hot and sweet against his own tongue.  
  
On Sunday, another call.  
  
Ryou pauses his work on the diorama to answer the phone and Bakura cannot help but overhear. Honda, again. Just wanting to talk about what the hell happened on Thursday, of course, but that doesn’t matter. Irrational, _ugly_ feelings are making themselves known to the spirit—the same sort as when Ryou used to invite his classmates to “play" games with him. Only _uglier_ , now, because Ryou is actually aware of his presence. But before Bakura can properly react, Ryou politely refuses—at least for today—because he already has plans, and ends the call. Then he returns to his side and resumes where he left off and Bakura is left with nothing to do but deflate. It takes him a whole half hour before he can internalize that, by plans, Ryou had really meant _this_.  
  
On Monday, something shifts.  
  
Despite the slew of distractors and a bum wrist, they’ve managed to not only get to the end of the week in one piece, but also complete an entire village—putting Bakura in a fairly generous mood. So when they happen past the window and catch a glimpse of _that guy_ outside, clutching a small potted plant and visibly working up the nerve to knock, he feels little more than amusement and perhaps a bit of pity, for his host. _What a fucking chump_. Bakura slides back, propping his chin in his palm and giving his counterpart a sly smile. Ryou notices and flushes deeply, but stands up straight. _‘Oh, shut up. Just… give us an hour, okay? You can have me for the rest of the night.’_  
  
Bakura blinks, caught off guard, but conceeds with an ugly grin and a halfhearted threat that they both laugh at through bared teeth. It isn’t much, but for the first time, it is _something_.


	6. Prideshipping: False Starts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (09/19/2011) In that moment they could have been friends, if Seto would only just...

It was the way that his attention drifted away, somewhere over his shoulder. It was the way his stride slowed, letting him fade to the back of the group as they disembarked the helicopter… It was intuition, really, that made _Yuugi_ hang back, stopping an arms-length from the place where Seto stood still, overlooking the cityscape. The setting sun threw deep washes of red and gold and shadow over his classmate’s face, obscuring all except the deep set of his frown; and Yuugi, in his dubious wisdom, decided against speaking first.  
  
He had no idea how he even knew Seto wanted to talk to him, to begin with.  
  
It was only once the others had disappeared into the building to arrange for transportation home that he finally looked at him again. The seconds stretched between them and the failing light showed like bruises in his eyes but Yuugi still waited, breaths slowing nearly to a stop as he opened his mouth. Once, twice. False starts written in the set of his shoulders as well as the thickness of his tongue. The wind whipped between them, punctuating their silence with its howl.  
  
"… _Yuugi_." It was deliberate. Tentative. Reluctant. “The heart of the cards… How did you find it?"  
  
It could have been that, in that moment, words escaped him. It could have been that words could not hope to express the truth as his heart understood it. Some things could not be told; they could only be experienced. And so Yuugi sighed, turning to face Seto directly. " _Here_ ," he pressed a hand to his own chest. “I felt it, here."  
  
Seto’s expression didn’t change, but the way he emulated him, touching fingertips gingerly over his heart, spoke volumes of how deeply it had affected him; it was enough so that Yuugi had to grant him the courtesy of pretending not to have noticed. “The bonds we create… the strength that we can all share… It’s the same feeling."  
  
Tension drew thickly, then, and he could feel his heart sinking at the dark look that stole across the other’s face. " _Tch_." Seto’s hand immediately dropped to his side and he looked away, scowling.  
  
"That’s stupid."  
  
"It’s _not_."  
  
Seto shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and looked skyward, face still pinched in annoyance and no small amount of frustration. “Aren’t you done trying to make a fool out of me?" The sun had dipped below the skyline, lightening but drawing out those bruises. “In case you haven’t noticed, _Yuugi_ , I’m not like you. I don’t need…" the sentence trailed off, but it wasn’t the open endedness of doubt; it was steeped deeply in implication.  
  
Yuugi folded his arms, shielding against the wind. Against this. “You’d be surprised."  
  
Kaiba exhaled, deflating in a way that belied his smile. “I don’t like surprises."  
  
"Of course not." There really wasn’t anything else to say. If the heart was explored so easily, then they wouldn’t have been standing here, together, to begin with. The only thing he had left to offer him was time. So he left it at that, turning, and continued toward the fire escape. Intuition held his tongue and kept his eyes straight as Seto fell into step with him, walking side by side like the friends that they were not.


	7. Prideshipping: Sweet Little Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (09/26/2011) A little gift giving between not-friends.

"Happy birthday."

His irritation is reflex—the result of years of badly executed, well-meant wishes, from people who meant little but ended up aggravating him a lot—but even before his mouth can take off without his brain, it becomes apparent that _Yuugi_ had expected as much.  He looks terribly put-out, for someone who had just voluntarily approached _him_. And Seto, thusly confused, manages to bite his tongue and settles for putting down what he is doing instead, to give proper acknowledgment.  
  
Yuugi eyes him intently for long seconds, before sighing deeply and holding out something with both hands, for him to take. “Here, this is for you," he says, with such a straight face that Seto almost wonders if whatever it is might bite him. So he doesn’t reach out immediately; instead, he openly studies the object in question. He gets as far as recognizing it to be a cupcake when he notices the tension in the other’s hands… There is a fine line of strain that seems to run from his fingertips, up into his mouth. But, again, before he can speak, Yuugi beats him to the punch: "My partner said that you might like it."  
  
And just like that, everything makes sense: his stiff posture, the white frosting, and hand scrawled blue eyes and jagged teeth decorating the cake… Little Yuugi can be so refreshingly unassuming, sometimes. It brings the smallest of smiles to his face—one that rapidly becomes a full blown smirk as his rival glowers, color rising in his cheeks. " _You_ made this?" Seto doesn’t need to ask, but the part of him that enjoys Yuugi’s discomfort can’t seem to let it go.  
  
” _You_ —"  
  
He catches his wrist, before Yuugi can snatch it away. And for a moment, they simply look at each other. He’s never accepted gifts from his classmates before, but just this once… he could make an exception. After all, it’s a fucking Blue Eyes White _Cupcake_. Who is he to refuse _that_?


	8. Nurseshipping: Deviation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (10/17/2011) Mai misses him, but isn't ready to face him yet.

She knew that what she was doing was a bad idea.

Her journey to find herself and her own strength was long and lonely, but she persevered because she knew that this path inevitably led back to Jounouchi. She wasn’t ready to face him—and perhaps not for a long time, yet—but that didn’t stop her from wanting to. And badly. She reasoned that it might be easier to run into his friends or family, first. Someone who carried a deep enough impression of him, so that she could just catch a hint of his presence without having to be confronted, yet. She wasn’t strong enough for that. Maybe it was selfish, but she couldn’t help what she wanted, and as time went on, it only worsened. It ached and it nagged until she found herself back in Japan, as his sister’s door.

She honestly liked Shizuka and was grateful to the girl in her own right, but it was with some guilt that she put that aside and invited the girl out for the night. Shizuka proved lovely, wrapped in ribbons and lace, warmed inside and out with champagne, and tasting of chocolate swirls and even sweeter dreams. Mai wondered if Jounouchi would ever forgive her if he knew what she was doing, but the prospect of his anger was still strangely appealing. Because maybe if he resented her, it would make this impossibly long road back to him that much easier to bear.


	9. Conflictshipping: With One Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (10/18/2011) Post-series; Conquestshipping + Jeershipping. Mai still can't commit. Love won't wait forever.

“He’s been looking for you, you know.”

As far as pillow talk is concerned, that comment is almost completely out of left field. But there is only one person that Valon would bother bringing up at a time like this and they both know it, so it’s pointless pretending she doesn’t understand. “You found him.” It isn’t a question.  
  
“Ran the Japanese circuit, last month. Of course, he was there.”  
“And you dueled him?”  
“Of course.”  
“How was he?”  
  
The way he looks at her seems almost  _troubled_. “Why don’t you ask him that, yourself?”  
  
Mai fumbles for her underwear, hastily clipping it all together before snatching up her skirt. It’s one thing to get caught up in the moment, but it’s another,  _entirely,_  to discuss Jounouchi; it’s their unspoken rule. Even until now, even though she knows that she cannot stay for Valon, it’s still easier to be weak for him, because they are  _still_ so alike. “I’m not ready to talk to him.”  
  
Valon doesn’t argue the point, but she already knew he wouldn’t. He stays on his side of the bed, slowly gathering up his own clothing. “He pretends it doesn’t bother him, but it  _does_ …” he offers, dressing calmly, “I can tell. I saw it in his eyes, that I reminded him of you…”  
  
“He’s such a kid,” she grumbles, avoiding the subject. “I’m sure you took advantage of that.”  
  
“I did.”  
“So he lost?”  
  
He pauses, giving her an odd look. “…If I won him, would that make it easier for you?”  
  
But that isn’t what she meant. It’s never been about that. “I… no,  _I_  need to be stronger.”

But Valon knows this. He’s  _always_  known.

“Don’t take too much longer, Mai. If you still have any feelings for him, you won’t wait.” The way he says it—so abruptly and with such absolute certainty—stops her cold in her tracks.  “I didn’t go to Japan just to catch up on old times… I’m in it to  _win_.” And there it is. The last word is  _steeped_ in his usual brand of self-satisfaction. “I’m willing to share him with you, but if you take too long…”

Somehow this revelation isn’t pleasing, but she doesn’t know if that’s more for Jounouchi’s sake, or her own. Valon smiles tensely. “Winning is everything, Mai. I get what I want. You know that.”  
  
She does know that—just as she knows how badly her denial is hurting Jounouchi—but her pride won’t allow her to acknowledge it out loud. Valon sighs, pulls on his own boots and grabs his jacket. He walks past her, opening the door and letting himself out first. “There’s still time. But if you take too long, I’ll make it so that he  _never_  looks at anyone else, like that, but me.”  
  
And Mai feels herself crumbling inside, because she knows he means it.


	10. Thiefshipping: Die Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (10/23/2011) Post-Battleship. Bakura and the Ishtars in a Walmart.

Bakura doesn’t know if he is more pleased or annoyed to find that this is, in fact, the first time the Ishtars have ever set foot inside a Walmart. He’s never been to one either, but the years of student-level consumerist culture seem to have lowered his expectations accordingly. So while their horrified bewilderment is initially amusing, he is already too hungry and not fond enough of shopping to  _continue_  enjoying their cattle-like stupefaction, almost two hours later.  
  
He wanders into Young Mens, where Malik is scrutinizing a generic cotton tee—intense confusion slowly giving way to intense offense. And while Bakura can take a stab at why, but he doesn’t particularly give a damn; they aren’t here for Malik anyway. “This isn’t the marketplace,” he reminds him, dryly. “The quality isn’t up for debate. That’s why the prices are like that.”  
  
Malik grimaces. “We have better linens, at home. We can  _make_ you better clothes than these.”  
  
Bakura can feel a headache coming on. All he wanted was to pick up a few basic necessities so that he could focus on things that actually  _mattered_ , already. “Idiot. All I need are  _basic_  things.”  
  
“If you were better  _suited_  to the area, maybe,” Malik punctuates this point by taking hold of his wrist and pulling it up between their faces; the faint blue of his veins is suddenly  _glaring_. “You either have good tolerance, or you have good garments. And you… should remember your host.”  
  
Bakura blinks. It isn’t his habit to take Ryou’s tolerances into account, only his own. But pain threshold aside, there  _did_  come a point where they became one and the same. They share a body, after all. And now that he thinks about it, he isn’t in Japan anymore and he really doesn’t know if Ryou’s soft, white skin will hold up for an extended period, in the desert.  
  
But it annoys him that  _Malik_  had to point that out. “He could use the conditioning.”

“Because getting wind and sunburnt proves just how much  _better_  you are than him, hm?” The change in Malik’s tone is so abrupt that Bakura is momentarily taken aback. But for his wariness, that vicious, condescending leer feels almost like a glimpse, all the way down, into the young tombkeeper’s soul–and for an instant… everything is completely normal between them, again. Or, at least, not awkward like it’s been since he returned to collect on their promise.

Bakura lets his hackles rise, readying himself for a fight, but Malik is already switching gears on him again and letting his arm back down, smiling tensely. “Come on,” he says, more gently, “It’s not so bad. I’ll lend you some of my old clothes until then.”  
  
“I’ve seen what  _you_  wear. Forget it,” Bakura sneers, but the Ishtar is already tossing the tee back onto the display table. It falls in a careless crumple and he lets himself be coaxed away anyway, back out onto the main floor. Once there, Malik takes an extra moment to make sure that his brother and sister are still absorbed in other things before flashing him what  _might_  be a smirk.  
  
“You know… I shouldn’t say this, but I’m glad you came back,” he admits, quietly.

Bakura stares at him. He isn’t stupid; he  _knows_  what Malik means—not that it was hard to figure out, watching the  _stiff_ way the boy holds himself around his family. Just because he no longer holds a grudge against the pharaoh doesn’t change who he is, inside. (And, actually, Bakura wonders why no one else seems to have caught onto this; Malik’s acting is not  _that_  good.) So having someone around who understands, and doesn’t  _care,_ is obviously a great relief, if their exchange, just now, is any indication to go by. Still… it goes both ways. Bakura still doesn’t exactly know how to handle partnership. And for now, he doesn’t  _try_. But Malik seems just fine with that.

 _Old habits die hard._  
  
“I’m not here for  _you_.”  
“…I know.”


	11. Thiefshipping: Palahniuk Exercise #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (12/8/2011) Bakura suffers the road for your whims.

The sun burns blinding overhead, white hot light catching in the sand and swallowing the entire world between. Bakura squints, watery eyes just barely tracking over the road as it unwinds, endless, into the distance. Everything is difficult to look at—even Malik, dressed against the elements for once, offers no respite. His head cover is terminally unbound to the wind, pale hair absorbing the sunlight like fire into a lamp wick; it blurs the space between him and the heat until he, himself, is a living bonfire. Bakura swears bitterly under his breath and hunches in the backseat of the jeep, pulling the brim of his borrowed cover over his eyes, like a shield. And he resolves to stay so, until the next possible stop, where he would procure a pair of shades. Malik’s laughter somehow carries back to him with irritating clarity, but it isn’t until they pull into the parking lot of the local Walmart that Bakura truly understands what the fuck is so funny.


	12. Protectshipping: Palahniuk Exercise #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (12/9/2011) Walk Away 'Verse. Ryou is done restraining himself.

His blood was molten, liquefying him from the inside out. Ryou laughed breathlessly, enthralled by the dual—sensation of weight and weightlessness—of sweet, strawberried poison creeping through his system and slowly obliterating control of his body, but not his mind.  _Never_  his mind. Just like with the spirit, he was there, somewhere in the back of his own head, watching himself. The shameless way he pressed into Honda pleased him, here and there. Because he could. Because it felt good. And, of course, because he let him. It was wrong. Ryou laid his cheek against his shoulder, splayed his hand to feel the sinewy shift of muscles inside his palm, and  _knew_  it was wrong. Months of necessity had transformed him into the exception, to the barrier that men kept against one another. So Honda would let him, and he was  _entitled_  to it because he’d suffered to let Honda in, as well, when he had so much more to lose.  
  
Weight, bearing down on his own shoulder, and he hardly had to look to know that Honda was leaning into him, exactly the way he wanted it. Ryou tilted, mouth parting wetly to inhale the alcohol between them, but there was pressure against his scars, tender and much too familiar in the shape of touch, and the breath caught awkwardly in his throat. He trembled, because Honda knew. Neither of them were so drunk as to not know better. But no sooner had he thought it than the heat of another mouth touched him, unsure and bitter with beer, but insistent all the same. And while the future suddenly loomed threatening at the edge of his consciousness, he decided it didn’t matter. They’d made their choices, already.


	13. Prideshipping: Palahniuk Exercise #3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (12/9/2011) Kaiba Land. “He knew he wouldn’t sleep, tonight.”

In the dark, time was nothing more than the incessant march of gears. Kaiba had no idea what time it was anymore, nor did he particularly care; all things important were past, for now. So he simply laid there, listening idly as the night wandered toward dawn, and tried to remember how to sleep. Funny, how you took for granted something as simple as knowing how to fall asleep… until a time like this, when you realized you never really knew, to begin with. You just did it. Like breathing. In, out… in, out…  _out_. Yeah, right. Normally, it wouldn’t matter. Normally, he wouldn’t bother pretending. But tonight, he needed the rest. He needed to be focused later, just in case…  
  
 _Damnit._  
  
It was hard to rest, knowing that  _Yuugi_  was only however many doors or floors down. It was hard containing himself, for the sake of business, when he was  _this close_. He hated wasting time. He could almost see him standing there, same as he’d left him at dinner, straw in mouth, staring at him over the top of his drink. Waiting for him to say anything, at all.  _Waiting_ … Kaiba exhaled explosively, rolling over and smothering himself into a pillow. Anything to rid himself of that image. It was ridiculous for so many reasons—not the least of which being that he was obviously hellbent on being frustrated. Yuugi giving him  _that_  look rarely amounted to anything, anyway…  
  
But that was how he came to find himself in a hotel corridor at dark o'clock, face to face with his rival—which, honestly, was completely counter-productive in the ways of sleeping at all, that night.


	14. Scandalshipping: Palahniuk Exercise #4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (12/11/2011) If it weren't demanded of you, would you still love me?

The prince beckons to him once the servants have taken their leave and while Set  _knows_  that this is the conversation that has been looming all day, he  _breathes_. Slowly, carefully, he exhales his tensions, his expectations—clearing his mind before he comes to kneel at the bedside. He is met at first with silence, but he knows better than to confuse it with hesitance, for he can feel the weight of those eyes as keenly as if Atem had laid his hand upon the bend of his neck.  
  
Then there really are fingertips against the rise of his cheekbone and Set cannot help himself to look up into that troubled face. “Are you really mine?” the boy asks, as if either of them could fathom a different answer, but Set dares not insult his intelligence; the prince, young though he might be, would not pose an obvious question for an obvious answer. So he waits, offering his own silence as encouragement to continue. “Is your heart really here, with me?”   
  
Set can only imagine what must have happened, that the prince should worry so deeply on his feelings, but refrains from remarking on that either. Instead he smiles faintly and chances a reassuring touch against his knuckles. “I could have done many things with my life, but I _chose_  this,” he says, “My life is  _yours_ … even if I should die, my next life will belong to you as well.”  
  
Atem smiles tensely at that, but it is his first sincere smile today. “You promise?”  
  
“I  _promise._ ”


	15. Prideshipping: Not Like That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (12/13/2011) That awkward first kiss.

He closes his eyes when  _Yuugi_  touches his brow, just so, breathing in the moment slowly. In the dark, his heart is throbbing almost hard enough to drown out his murmuring, but the words are not important—only the low pitched, throaty quality of them. Kaiba understands this as clearly as the vibration riding down his spine, into his guts, and surely,  _this_  is the cue for reaction. So he reaches forward, blindly, and the corners of Yuugi’s jaw somehow settle into his palms just right. The wisp of a gasp greets his skin and it’s all the encouragement he needs to lean down and in and “ _Ow!_  Kaiba, my—” and somehow, that angle isn’t right but, maybe “Ah, what are you—” oh, for the love of “Kaiba,  _stop_.”  
  
And that is how he  _almost_  ruins their first kiss. Except Yuugi  _grabs_  him when he tries to get away, his mouth warm and shaking with silent laughter. And Kaiba  _almost_  laughs too… but then Yuugi makes a noise that is decidedly not funny, and he forgets everything else.


End file.
